There is always something in the way. Blocked by what is and tainted by what was. Some things seen, some things felt and some things heard and all of them sting as equally and as often. Something blocking my breath. My breathing in this life is obstructed by what lives inside. It breathes all by itself and seems to strangle my own……my own what, I don’t quite know, I just know how it feels. I just know how it moves and hides and sneaks and peeks and peers and pushes and tugs and taunts and beguiles me. I know that it’s not who I am but it is in fact a part of me even if I don’t want it to be. And it’s bred such a darkness and a hate and a need and an anger that feeds on turmoil and trauma. Calm in the chaos and quiet in the fight. The saddest part is that it’s always been there. Ripe and raw since the beginning. No more sorrow and shame hidden underneath just real and sick and showing up over and over again. There’s no breaks with this. There’s no decline or deaccent, it’s always up, up high, just waiting to fall. Floating through the steam soaked emotional air. That same air that seems to be pulled from my lungs whenever I get a moment, a moment to breathe, it’s sucked out and away. Gone are the days of wonder why and replaced by days of drudgery and dreaming. Tantrums and fits of epic proportion sliced down by snake shaped words with a sharpened tongue and those words are fork forced into me with each bickering brawl. The comforts of home dull and dingy by all the times before and sullied in the gray that sticks to my mind like humidity on the skin. An overcast life lead by a lust seeker in a haze of the lack luster lit by lunacy and frailty. A walk down memory lane as I hold the hesitant hand of an unsustainable present and powerless future or so it seems. Sickly and anemic with desire it’s nearly funny because it’s so fucking sad. Lost and languorous I sit and wait for something, anything to push it out of the way. That something, that whatever it is that blocks my sight. That restricts my breath. The barrier. The wall. The gridlocked mountain that is between. The ever present hindrance that has become a living entity and holds fast with a proud restraint. Time will heal and time will tell, so they say. I say time be damned and turn up the ruckus. Ferment in the fucked up and align the with the wild. Let the riot out and bask in the bedlam and free the fury. Pandemonium is ok even if they don’t like it. Even if they don’t like you. Truth be told in silence and squash the squabble. Ignore the debate and fuel the fire that will set you free. Harness it and bathe in the embers. Wrangle the words and stow the static. Be you, be hectic and shove your way through. All of you. Every last longing and deserving bit of you. Bust out and bust through and be seen with the vengeance that is, and has always been, you.